


Backstage

by pensnest



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Blank Verse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-21
Updated: 2010-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:41:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensnest/pseuds/pensnest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The screaming crowd impatiently awaits, <br/>'Tis time! 'tis time! Come, boys, and take the stage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backstage

__

Scene: backstage

_Enter JC_

_JC:_

  


> Behold me in my raiment fit to Pop  
>  A painted peacock, gorgeous, lithe and fine,  
>  Thusly bedecked to wriggle for the crowd.  
>  But where are my companions of the stage?  
>  Such laggards all. 

__

Enter Anthony, looking at his watch.

_JC:_

  


> Ho, Anthony! Is't time?

_Anthony:_   


> A moment yet, ere I must like the lion  
>  Roar out my rage at late-come singers four.

_JC:_   


> Here's one. 'Tis Lance, whose beauty like the sun  
>  Doth flame in shining yellow. Lance, what gives?  
>  Is there some problem in the quiet room?

_Anthony:_   


> Those troublemakers better be here soon.

_Lance:_   


> Hail, Anthony. No, JC, naught's amiss  
>  Except that Chris yet struggles with his pants  
>  And Joey on the telephone is trapp'd  
>  A-babbling to his infant daughter Bri,  
>  While Justin by the mirror's lure is caught,  
>  Preening and primping for the crowd's delight.

__

Enter Justin.

Justin:   


> What, Lance! Such calumnies as you do prate.  
>  Behold me, buff and perfect, near divine,  
>  I, like the trembling racehorse at the gate,  
>  Chafed by restraining leash, am good to go,  
>  To strut upon the spotlit stage and sing,  
>  Most eager to bring ecstasy to all.  
>  And are we in good voice, my dearest friends?

_JC: _   


> Yea!

_Lance:_   


> Sure.

_Justin:_   


> Roll not your eyes, I do beseech!  
>  Our music is a matter most substantial  
>  To which we dedicate our best endeavour.  
>  Here's Chris at last, and Joey in his train.

_Anthony:_   


> 'Bout time.

_Chris: _   


> Behold us! Where's the hackey-sack?  
>  We must with prompt dispatch and little flaw  
>  Our superstitious ritual execute  
>  Lest ill-luck dog with error this our show.

_Lance:_   


> I have it here. All ready? Let's commence.

_JC:_   


> Oh, dear.

_Joey:_   


> No matter, we can start again.

_Justin: _   


> As often as we need to make it so.  
>  We cannot take the stage with hackey dropp't  
>  Oh, curse it.

_Lance:_   


> Pray be quiet and concentrate!  
>  For Anthony will flog us if we're late.

_Chris:_   


> Our hackey's done! Praise God! Now let's embrace,  
>  A moment's peace before the fearful shrieks  
>  Of teenage worship overwhelm our minds,   
>  Their lusty pleas like maenads i' the chase,  
>  Relentless as the ocean waves that crash  
>  Upon the pliant shore—

_Anthony: _   


> Enough of that!  
>  Scant thirty seconds yet remain, and I  
>  Determined am that you at once shall go  
>  And never, never dare delay the show.

_exeunt, pursued by Anthony_

**Author's Note:**

> Composed for a writing challenge to produce a fic in the style of another author.
> 
> Well, *somebody* had to do Shakespeare.


End file.
